


My Ancestors Behind Me

by Lucy_Luna



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, One Shot, Pre-Series, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26870440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucy_Luna/pseuds/Lucy_Luna
Summary: Iroh II takes a moment to study the portraits of Fire Lords present and past. The portrait of his Grandfather strikes him with a new revelation and deepens his admiration for Zuko.
Relationships: n/a
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	My Ancestors Behind Me

The portraits had always hung in the long hall of the palace as far back as Iroh could remember. It was both a surprise they were here and not at all. While so many of the Fire Lords past were now shameful history, they were still a part of his nation’s (and family’s) story. That was why they remained Iroh knew. His grandfather the Fire Lord, well,  _ retired  _ Fire Lord, had never flinched away from their nation’s past. 

From his very beginning, he’d faced it head-on, doing everything he could to mend what their nation had broken. Iroh had heard many tales over his years. He’d been witness to many discussions, arguments. Iroh also had read opinions and articles and books aplenty. Not everyone agreed with his grandfather’s chosen path to reparations, some thought he’d done too little, others felt he was giving too much for damages done outside of living memory. What everyone did agree on was that his grandfather, Fire Lord Zuko, was sincere in his pursuit of peace.

Iroh turned his eyes to his mother’s freshly finished portrait. It was magnificent. All the portraits were — Even that of monsters like Fire Lord Sozin and Ozai. He took a step back to study the last five portraits together. They were all similar and different. The portraits were different in that they reflected their own artists’ flairs and the styles of the time they were painted. Their subjects contrasted in their appearances as well, yet they were alike in them too. The bright, rich golden eyes they all bore were one and the same, passed from heir to heir. 

There were other vague resemblances too, a nose between Ozai and his father, Azulon. The set of the chin was shared between Sozin and his grandson, Zuko. The almost gentle slope of their brows connected Grandfather to Mother. It was not all that his mother and grandfather’s portrait shared. Where those previous to them wore unyielding and callous expression in their portraits, Iroh’s mother and grandfather seemed almost… Tranquil, benevolent in comparison. 

He hoped when his or his sister’s day to take the throne came they could be captured with such a gentle expression.

Eyes passing over them all one by one again, Iroh was struck with a new realization that had never touched his mind before. Sozin, Azulon, Ozai, even his mother, they were all clearly touched by age in their portraits — even if it was only just in the case of Sozin. In the fire nation, you were a man or woman at sixteen. However, most, especially now, agreed that was only true in tradition. Sixteen-year-olds still lived with their parents, they still went to school, played with their younger siblings, and made mistakes that could be forgiven as the folly of youth.

Iroh stared hard at his grandfather’s portrait. His face still held a softness of boyhood, even if the painter had tried to hide it with bolder, harsher strokes. The only thing that marred his face was his scar. He had no beard or mustache. No gray in the hairs about his temple. He was a  _ boy _ . A boy that Iroh was only himself not anymore.

It instilled new awe in him. Somehow, the fire nation stood today because of that boy. He knew his grandfather’s story perhaps as well as his own, but it had not clicked for him what that meant. When the war ended, Grandfather Zuko hadn’t gotten to go back to his lost childhood, enjoy the last of his spring. Instead, he’d been thrust into his summer, scorching the child out of the man he was in the painting. Iroh couldn’t believe his grandfather chose to reign as long as he did.

If it had been him… Well, he supposed their country was lucky his mother had two children. It was not that Iroh did not understand responsibility, or honor, or duty, he did. What he feared was that he did not have the devotion the job called for. The ability to withstand and love and care in the face of challenges seen and unseen; defeats, hurts, and setbacks. 

His sister did. She had that famed will of fire. Her grandfather’s stubbornness. Iroh was confident that she could be a brilliant Fire Lord given the chance. When the day came for a successor to be chosen, he hoped his sister would be there, that it would be her his mother could pass the throne to.

Iroh stretched his hand out and trailed his fingers down the cheek of his boy-Grandfather. For the sake of his sister, for the love of his mother, he prayed the day she needed to take the throne would be decades from now. A boy Fire Lord could be just as great as a man, perhaps even better, but Iroh felt it would be best for all if they also became something of their nation’s past. 

Children might be the future, but there was no reason to make them herald it in any longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought a little foray into the ATLA/LoK fandoms would be fun. Thoughts?
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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